


Do I Wake or Sleep?

by 1848pianist



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1848pianist/pseuds/1848pianist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is sick and a broke college student. Combeferre is a friend and medical student. Do the math. Okay it's fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Wake or Sleep?

**Author's Note:**

> I name Jehanferre fics after Romantic poetry apparently. And I have no idea why some of the dialogue won't indent, sorry.

On his way home from his last class of the day (anatomy) Combeferre’s phone rang.

            “Hey,” he said, recognizing Prouvaire’s number. “What’s up?”

            “Hi.” Jehan’s voice was weak from the other end of the line. “Um, do mind coming over? Sometime when you’re not busy? I’ve got the flu, and I didn’t want to bother Joly or anything…college student with no health insurance, you know.”

            “Sure, it’s no problem,” Combeferre replied. “I can come now if you want.”

            “You’re not in class or anything, are you?” Jehan asked.

            “No – finished for the day,” Combeferre replied. “Sorry to hear that you’re sick, though.”

            “I’ll be fine,” Jehan replied, sounding tired. “See you soon.”

            Combeferre ran by his dorm to grab books and a change of clothes; he figured that if Jehan was sick enough to call for help, he was sicker than he would be willing to let on. Combeferre knew that despite his looks, the little poet was tough, and he knew even more how much he hated to ask for help.

            Twenty minutes later, he was outside Jehan’s apartment.

“Come on in,” was the answer to his knock at the door. He found Prouvaire in the tiny living room, looking dramatically pale and ill.

“Hi,” he said to Combeferre from the couch.

“Jehan, you look awful. Why didn’t you call earlier?” Combeferre asked in concern.

“I’m not so bad. I was just tired of being miserable _and_ lonely, you know?”

“Have you taken anything? Fever medication?” Combeferre asked, switching to medical student mode.

Jehan shook his head. “Broke college student, remember?”

Combeferre _hmmed_ empathetically. “What about symptoms?”

“Normal flu stuff. Headache, fever, vomiting. The works.”

“Did you eat?”

“Tried. If you had been here about an hour ago you would have seen the results of that.” Jehan sat up so that he was a little closer to Combeferre’s eye level.

“You okay?” Combeferre asked, watching Jehan go even paler.

            “Just ridiculously hot,” Jehan said, his eyes slightly fever-bright. Combeferre almost laughed – Jehan was wearing at least three different layers of sweaters and his long hair probably wasn’t helping.

            “That may actually be a good thing,” he said instead. “If you’re not feeling chilled, your fever might be going down.”

            Jehan shrugged. “Maybe.”

            “Do you want something to drink? Maybe that would help. And anyway, you need to stay hydrated.”

            “Sure, thanks,” Jehan said, tugging at his hair slightly as he did when he was uncomfortable.

            When Combeferre returned, Jehan had removed the majority of his sweater layers, but was still fighting with the knots in his hair.

            “You know,” Combeferre teased gently, “your hair probably isn’t helping with your fever much.”  
            “It’s fine.”

            “I could cut it. I mean – I cut my hair, at least. Broke college student, and all.”

            Jehan smiled faintly. “That’s a little bit different.”

            “Well, you’ve got it all tangled,” Combeferre added.

            “Go ahead, then,” Jehan agreed, sounding resigned. “It will grow back, at least.”

            “True,” Combeferre said, then went to find scissors.

 

            Ten minutes later, most of Jehan’s hair was in a wastebasket, and the rest hung limply somewhere around his jawline.

            “I look ridiculous,” he decided, examining his reflection.

            “Well, you are sick,” said Combeferre reasonably. “It’s not going to look _good_.”

            “Cut the rest of it off,” Jehan said, handing Combeferre the scissors again.

            “Are you sure?” he asked in surprise. Jehan nodded, so Combeferre did as he was asked.

            “I hardly recognize you,” Combeferre laughed.

            “I look like Bossuet,” Jehan exclaimed jokingly, putting a hand to his forehead for dramatic effect. “I can hardly claim to be a poet now.”

            Combeferre smiled, glad to see that Jehan felt better and wondering if he should try and get him to eat something. Abruptly, the poet’s smile faded and he leaned back on the couch, looking pale again.

            “Are you alright?” Combeferre asked, once again worried about his friend.

            “Tired, I guess?” Jehan replied. He didn’t sound sure.

            “Listen, Jehan, do you need to see a doctor or something? Because—,”

            Jehan shook his head vehemently. “I can’t pay for that.”

            Combeferre sighed in exasperation. “We’ll _find_ a way to pay for it, Jehan.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Jehan said. “And, really, I don’t want to see a doctor.” He leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder and curled up next to him.

            “Okay,” Combeferre conceded. After a while, he thought Jehan had fallen asleep.

            The poet grinned slightly. “Thanks for the haircut.”

            Combeferre laughed. “No problem. Do you want me to stay? In case you need something?”

            “If you don’t mind,” Jehan answered. “I hope you didn’t have homework or anything.”

            “It’s fine; I brought it with me,” Combeferre replied.

            “Of course you did,” Jehan said, rolling his eyes in mock ridicule. “Interesting reading?” he asked of Combeferre’s medical textbook.

            “‘A variety of diseases afflict the human heart, a deceptively fragile organ. Despite the body’s extraordinary ability to repair itself, the heart is susceptible to…’” Combeferre read aloud.

            Jehan raised an eyebrow. “‘My heart aches/and drowsy numbness pains my sense,’” he quoted.

            “Keats?” Combeferre asked. Jehan nodded, smiling in approval.

            “I should have guessed you’d know your Romantics,” he said.

            “Sure. I read more than just for school,” Combeferre replied. When Jehan didn’t say anything further, he went back to his homework in contented silence.

            “Thanks for coming over,” Jehan said after a while. Combeferre looked up, surprised but not at all displeased when Jehan kissed him.


End file.
